Why?
by Versk
Summary: The words reverberated throughout the room and in his mind, filling him with fear and making him tremble. But at least he was there to calm and soothe him. Slight Vincent / Gilbert. Takes place right after Retrace 33.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Pandora Hearts_. _Pandora Hearts_ and all its affiliations (including, but not limited to: its characters, objects, places and events) are owned by Jun Mochizuki and XEBEC.

**A/N:** The setting takes place _right_ after Retrace 33, where we see Vincent hugging Gilbert's head to him. There are no big spoilers in this fiction, but there _are_ mentions to what happens in that chapter.

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_"From now on, no matter who you kill with your own hands, I will stand by your side!"_

Those words felt so distant, so far away. Yet so close, physically and mentally. Like a memory, or a dream realized not long ago. But unlike a dream where everything existed in the mind, these words were solid.

Those words had weight to them. They had warmth, feel, smell, and sound.

They were real.

The "you" was himself, and "I" the one who produced those sounds still reverberating against the aching walls of his mind. His younger brother. Vincent. The one half-sitting in his lap and cradling his dark head to a warm, beating chest, with thin fingers tangled in his messy hair.

The fact the younger man was resting so close to him did not faze him in the least. It did not even register in his mind.

In any other situation he would have grunted Vincent off him.

At any other time he would have stood and moved away before the man's hands could touch him.

Given any other circumstance he would have greeted his bother's sentence with a frown, a word of acknowledgement or disapproval, then one of parting before leaving.

But not this time.

Not when his mind felt so raw and so numb after an onslaught of rapid thoughts and freshly recalled memories.

Not now.

Not when he needed this. Needed the weight of a human being holding down his frame, needed that warm heartbeat in his ear, needed that single reassurance cementing him to the here and now and not the past.

He did not want to remember that, those memories and thoughts.

It was so strange to think about. He had longed to discover his history, to know who he was and who he had been before waking up in an unfamiliar garden and starting fresh with a new "identity." For fifteen years he had known nothing about himself save for a name and a sibling discovered only a decade earlier.

But now…

Now…

Those thoughts still echoed in whispers throughout the room. Kill, kill, kill. A girl with a rebellious demeanor hidden behind dark brown bangs. A promise to deny forgiveness. An object in his small hand. The loud shout of a name. Orders to stay away. Blood. Screams. Words—words he would never—_should _never utter—slipping so easily from his mouth then gushing forth and filling the room.

His arms twitched. As though guided by invisible strings they ghosted forward off the chair's arms. His left arm laid across the blonde's lap while his right hand clung loosely to a handful of cloth covering Vincent's outer hip.

He was scared. Scared of what he had said, scared of these memories, scared…of himself. The statement he had proclaimed, the ferocity of his words—had those really come from him? Had he truly said that? Swearing to kill anyone? Even…? Through a mild trembling he managed to grip the black fabric much, much tighter in his right hand. His breath hitched. He felt sick.

The movement did not go unnoticed.

Vincent's sharp grin faded when Gil's arms started to glide, but soon grew back into its natural, unsettling serenity. He said nothing, made no noise. Only stroked a gloved finger against a curl of raven-black hair and gazed at the arm across his lap out of the corner of his bi-colored vision. He felt the trembling and sudden exhales and inhales, and caressed Gil's cheek with the back of his curled fingers, still playing with that bit of hair.

Gil's arms and body ached to move, to tighten around the form atop him. So warm, so close. So familiar and willing to help. The man's fingers tickled his skin and slightly pulled at his hair, but he gave no mind when a soft hum floated into his ears. The melody sealed away each terrible image one by one and silenced all other sounds. No more blood, no more shouts. Just a warm comforting tune tugging at a door in the back of his memory.

The quaking halted and the bubbling of his stomach ceased. His breathing grew steady and rapid heart rate decreased.

Who was this person? To drive away the fear and make him feel so at ease. This person humming a familiar melody to hush his thoughts. To give him purpose. To give him kindness. Something solid and warm and close and recognizable.

Maybe…

Long blond hair fell over the man's shoulder and brushed against his face. The color glinted in his gold eyes.

Gilbert blinked.

No. The one he thought of, the one he desired, this was not that person. The only resounding similarity was the hair tickling his cheek.

If he focused, he could just imagine the blond locks belonging to his precious someone. The same color, the same bounce, the same smoothness against his skin. But in the end still fake. Still not the same.

Gil's tense body deflated with a sigh and his wide eyelids drooped.

Vincent's placid grin pulled sharply at one corner. A smirk. Somehow the altered expression caught Gil's attention and he lifted his gaze. One wine-red, one golden eye stared back at him, half-lidded gaze clashing with attentive one. Vincent combed a clothed hand through Gilbert's messy bangs and the smirk became a serene, reassuring smile.

How was it? How could he be so tender toward a person who had just earlier wrapped a hand around his throat, slammed him against a wall, and yelled in his face?

"You look tired."

The break of silence and humming caught Gilbert off-guard.

"…yeah." He always felt tired.

"Maybe," he let the word hang on the tip of his tongue, "you should rest here tonight. A familiar setting might help put your mind at ease."

Gilbert didn't know how to respond to that. His mind was still considering the man's first statement and scavenging for a reason for such behavior. Simple brotherly devotion was all he could gather. But at the same time, he could not help but ponder if that was enough.

To say what he did, to show affection after being shown violence, to soothe him and hug him as he did now—what did that take? Did he hide his true feelings behind that ever-present smile, or did he truly mean what he said?

"_It would all be for you."_

"_I am fine as long as I am with my big brother."_

But that big brother had spent so little time with him. He had focused on bettering himself and becoming stronger, entered Pandora and made a contract with a chain, spent ten years searching for someone when he had already found another. All for one person.

Oz had come to always accept things as they were. No matter the situation, the oddity of it, he just took it as reality and moved on. Perhaps Vincent was the same: accepting his violent actions, like how he accepted his lost memory and strive to be with his master rather than his own flesh and blood. They really were the same. And yet so different.

"Brother?"

Gilbert jumped and blinked away his wandering thoughts. It only occurred to him after Vincent slightly tilted his head that he had not yet given an answer. He frowned, lowered his gaze, furrowed his brow, and gently shook his head.

Vincent gave an airy sound of acknowledgement full of disappointment. "I see," he mumbled through a whisper.

The weight on Gilbert's lap shifted and Vincent drew closer to his face. In a gentle proceeding and fluid motion, the blonde's lips planted themselves against the skin of his bare forehead, bangs already brushed to the side. He had received pecks on the forehead before, from Ada when he bumped his head as a little kid or from a kind servant after a nightmare. So he knew how they felt—sweet and gentle, affectionate and light. This did not feel like a kiss. Even with the slight pop of lips parting, it resembled more an innocent settling of skin than an intimate display of love.

Still, the modest sound rang like a gong in his mind. It woke his senses and drew forth his full attention.

And he realized: Vincent was sitting in his lap. Vincent had just kissed him.

A light blush glowed beneath his ivory cheeks. Gilbert turned his gaze sideways, accidentally brushing against the other's lips again, and cleared his throat.

"Vince."

The blond blinked and pulled back. "Yes, brother?"

Gilbert's jaw slackened but no words came forth. Instead, he moved his legs and jostled Vincent's frame a bit. With an amused grin and a sound like the hybrid of a hum and a laugh, the blond lifted from his brother's lap and stood back. Gilbert watched the other straighten his robe before standing himself.

"I should go."

"Back to that master, right?" His bi-colored gaze seemed to only partially focus on him. "Your loyalty truly is admirable. That's one of the things I love about you, brother." And then his attention shifted. To what Gilbert could not tell.

"I'm sorry I kept you so long," Vincent added. "You probably missed your chance; the festival should be over by now."

The discolored eyes returned to him and glinted at his mild confusion. The expression dissipated and Gilbert's face returned to its usual form.

"Vincent."

The man's visage turned plain, expectant. Gilbert released a sigh and broke the short silence. "If you remember anything…"

The words faded as another of Vincent's unnerving smiles grew. "You'll be the first I'll tell, big brother."

Another pause. "Thanks." The dark man pivoted and headed for the door. He opened it but stopped half-way. "Good night, Vince."

"Good night, brother."

Gilbert gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. But before he could move through the doorway—

"Gilbert?"

He turned and eyed the blond still smiling.

"Please visit again soon. It gets lonely here without you."


End file.
